LET THE WORLD KNOW THE TRUTH
Darkness. Penetrated only by the faintest glimmer of a burning candle as it plaintively flickers, trying to help me.
Cold. Biting into my body, my heart, my soul. There is too much of it to shiver.
A faint smell of something- sadness, decay, loneliness- hangs in the air like cobwebs woven by the ghost of an ancient spider. How has its tapestry survived?
The taste of nothing presses on my tongue.
And the silence. Broken only by the lingering echo of what happened then…
Early evening. I can see people talking and laughing together; I can hear snippets of their conversation, although I am not eavesdropping. Life has taught me better by now:
But I am alone. There is no one to talk to me and I can talk to no one. I arrive at the church where we have arranged to meet and strive to open the door; it groans.
Inside, everything is huge but the pews: the altar with its statue of an angel; the stained glass window showing various biblical scenes; the organ; the distance between the stone floor and ceiling.
Neither of us is religious. Science, philosophy, logic… they are enough. So we are not here to pray. We have chosen to meet here because I do not want to be heard by anyone else, and I know that no one comes here at this time on a week day. Yet I sense a presence, although he is not yet here. Someone IS here, I know it. They do not want to be seen. Why?
I hear the door moan, then I see him approaching. He stops in front of me and smiles. For one precious moment, our eyes meet. He silently falls to the ground. A sound like a dog whining escapes my mouth. Is it a dog whining or is it a wolf howling? Or is it some alien sound that no animal on earth but me is capable of producing? My only friend. Who was so patient so thoughtful who understood me. NO ONE has ever understood me but him. He would listen to my sounds that were meaningless to the rest of the world; he would listen to them and know what I was saying; would watch my expression and understand exactly what I was feeling. But now… What happened? Why?
Then, I see him. Small, thin and peeling off thin rubber gloves. I must have been too intent on my friend to see him. No. Not “him”. IT. For It was the presence. Now, it has shouted. People are coming into the church, crowding around us, swarming like a wake of hungry vultures, staring wide-eyed at the three of us. It is only now that I realise: I have fallen to my knees. My hands are covered in blood and I am holding the knife.
“Go away!” I want to shout. “For Heaven’s sake, leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE! It was HIM!” But they will not understand. Now, my thoughts are completely cut off from civilisation.
“Uiu?” I am saying. I cannot even say his name!
The vultures’ screeches sound distant. I hear a requiem in my blurred mind, but in my despair I forget whose it is. It does not matter. I wish it would stop, but it refuses. It hacks into my very core, my essence, everything and I can think of nothing else…
After that, there is nothing but a flash of days, weeks, months… perhaps years or centuries. Time is irrelevant. Tick, tock tick…
The scream of the sirens, the vultures, the handcuffs; and all the while, Julius’ last word to me, before we separated that last time echoing: “Goodbye.”.
Nothing for sometime.
The trial- I remember very little of that. A cold room; colder eyes boring into me. Questions? Unjust assumptions. The discovery of my fingerprints on the knife- of course they were on it! The killer was wearing gloves so as not to be caught!
Now, I am here. Alone again. Rest, understanding, warmth. None are present. Only misconceptions, lies and cold, cold hatred.
It is hopeless.
Tomorrow, I will lie on the bed. The first stage: the final remnants of my expression paralysed and torn away by merciless hands. The second? My body destroyed. The third? My spirit joining him. (I believe in the human soul.) Is it universal? No. I do not believe that.
Do I care? About joining him, yes. About the rest…
I would not kill a friend.
If these pages are found, I beg you: publish them. Let the world know the truth for its own sake.
I have already planned my last “words”:
“I confess to a single and terrible crime: innocence.”